


Burn

by katofthenorth



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon Universe, F/F, Love Letters, Prompt Fic, Valentine's Day, bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katofthenorth/pseuds/katofthenorth
Summary: Jaina had kept every letter Sylvanas had ever sent her. But fresh horrors bring Jaina to think; should she really be holding these memories?





	Burn

In the years since Jaina had last set foot among the ruins of Theramore, the isle had hardly changed. Pain washed over the mage as she stepped through the portal and onto the shattered cobbles of what had once been the main road. So much time had passed, and the residual magic from the mana bomb had left her fully.

She could feel it now, stronger than when she had returned with Kalec. The residual magic permeated the air yet still. It suffused everything. The magic pressed at her mind, pulled at her own mana. It sought to be drawn once more into her. To be channeled and used.

Jaina squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned against her staff. She struggled with herself against temptation. The all craving to taste the raw power again. To feel as invisible and free as she had then. She had prepared for this, but she hadn't expected the call to be so strong and sweet.

Jaina wasn't sure how long she stood there, struggling against herself to resist the power. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Jaina stood tall. She came here with a purpose, and as long as she kept that in mind, she could resist.

With a twirl of her fingers, Jaina brought forth a wisp of arcane energy. “Find it. My treasure,” she whispered as the wisp drifted away, leaving a misty trail in its wake.

While the wisp did the work for her, Jaina took to wandering the ruins. The tapping of her staff punctuated her every step as she traversed the otherwise silent grave. Nature had steadily crept back in, taking back Jainas little isle. Vines covered most of the crumbling walls, and hardy little trees were already growing. All of the plant life carried a faint tinge of a lilac glow, the only real evidence of the bomb.

Jaina stopped walking when a flash of movement caught her eye. There, standing just in the cover of the glowing brush, was a doe and standing next to her, two little fawns. They stared at her a while before the doe decided that the mage was nothing to worry about and wandered back the way she had come, the trio vanishing from sight.

Jaina held her free hand to her heart as she watched them leave. Life flourished here. Here, where so many had died, where Jaina’s life had ground to halt. It made her feel lighter.

She wandered the shattered cobbled streets absently. We used to know these streets by heart, and a moment's thoughts proved that she still did. Here had been a bakery, and over there a blacksmith. The open court of the market. Civilian lives that had been uprooted and hurled back across the ocean.

Jaina wasn’t surprised when he feet took her right to the edge of the crater where her tower had once stood. Here, the residual magic was stronger. No animals drifted close, no roots hold. The anomaly was still present. Instead of pooling in the crater to form a lake, rainwater hung suspended in the air, only falling when a strong wind blew it away.

Jaina had to push the water aside like a curtain in order to step inside. She was confused by what she found inside. Down in the center of the crater, stood a single monument, untouched by the magic around it. Her knuckles went white as she gripped her staff. No Alliance workers had been allowed to set foot in the ruins aside from the recovery of bodies. It had been deemed far too dangerous with the Horde having free reign and the temperamental mana in the air.

Which meant—

Jaina rushes to scramble down into the crater, tripping and stumbling. She felt the old fury burn freezing in her veins the closer she got. Her eyes glowed brightly as she called upon her magic, ready to obliterate the monument.

What praise could Garrosh have written about the atrocity he had committed? What glory had he sung of? Of the might and triumphs of the Horde? Jaina trembled with rage, arcane energy dripping from her fingers, as she paused to read.

_“To the brave men and women slaughtered in the horrendous assault on Theramore. Lest we forget the atrocity committed and the devastation brought in the act of blind obligations.” - Vol’Jin, Warchief of the Horde._

Tears pricked at Jainas eyes as she let her magic go. Dispelling it harmlessly into the air. It was a monument to her people. To those lost. Kinndy and Pained. Rhonin. The 7th Legion and all it's generals.

She didn’t have time to dwell, or even pay her proper respects. As all too quickly, Jaina felt the tug of the arcane wisp and had to carefully pick her way out of the crater to follow it's pull.

Jaina dutifully followed the tug on her chest. Twisting and turning through the streets and down to the edge of the water. The object she was searching for was further out still, and Jaina had to carefully hop from the crop of rocks that jutted out of the water to get close enough to focus her magic.

She reached out, feeling deep beneath the gentle waves. She staggered a bit on the rock, closing her fist on her magic as she might a fishing net and pulled. An enchanted chest, covered in muck and sea life. Other than being blown into the ocean, the chest was untouched by the mana bomb,

She took it back to shore, allowing it to sink into the warm sand, and with a wave of her hand, removed all evidence of it's resting place. Her next task was more difficult, but only slightly. Jaina began meticulously undo the protective enchantments that had kept the chest safe. Layers upon layers of sealing spells and wards.

When she was done, Jaina set her staff aside. With trembling hands, She opened the chest, swallowing hard against the sudden rush of emotion. Inside, the chest contained memories. Memories of a time long since past, and a woman she had tried desperately to forget.

Struggling to control her breathing, Jaina picked through the contents of the chest. A cluster of brightly colored feathers bound together with a string of fine gold. A necklace with a gull pendant carved from bone. A well-worn cloak of deep blue, it’s fur trim white as snow. A single arrow, it’s shaft carved with runes.

She placed all of these objects on the sand next to her with a certain kind of reverence, leaving but one item left in the chest. A worn leather pouch of elven craft. Elegant golden filigree lined the edges of the leather and a golden clasp kept it closed.

Jaina carefully undid the latch and pulled out its contents. A large stack of letters. Every single written to her by Sylvanas Windrunner, dating back to when they had met when Jaina was still just an apprentice in Dalaran.

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

_I must thank you for taking the time away from your studies to show me around Dalaran. You were a very enthusiastic guide. Perhaps someday soon, I could return the favor in Silvermoon?_

_Many thanks, General Sylvanas Windrunner_

And she had gone to Silvermoon. It had been an amazing trip and the start of a wonderful friendship.

_Dear Lady Jaina,_

_It would seem that I am once more in your debt. Had it not been for your quick wit, my unit and I might have met our ends fighting those beasts. Might I suggest we make our next outing a little less dangerous? Dinner? I know of a quiet little place in Fairbreeze that would be most suited to dinner between two very close friends._

_I look forward to hearing back from you, Sylvanas._

They had met many times after that.

_My Dear Jaina,_

_I had a wonderful time last night. You’re right, the forests of Lordaeron do rival my own, but you will never get me to admit that out loud. I am to go on leave next week. Perhaps you could take some time away from your studies and come and spend it with me in Quel’thalas. I can assure you, Windrunner Village, is a quiet little place this time of year. It will be just the two of us and the spire._

_I would love it if you would join me. Sylvanas._

That had been the last time she had seen Sylvanas before the Third War began. The elfs letters had become more flowery after that.

_My Dearest, Jaina,_

_I have heard it said that absence only makes the heart grow fonder. If that is true, then I must be dangerously close to being madly in love with you. I see memories of you all around me, even here on the front. Your soft golden hair in every leaf that sways in the breeze. In the blue of the streams by which we make our camps I see the enchanting blue of your eyes. I long to be in your arms once more. To be held in your arms. To be allowed to just relax._

_It's lights out now. Even the General is not exempt from these rules._

_With love, always, Sylvanas._

Jaina held the next letter for longer than she needed. Feeling the additional weight of the burden it carried. She unfolded the letter with the utmost care and took out the ring it held. Such a simple ring, far more simple than most pieces of elvish metalwork. A braid of silver and gold. She ran her thumb along its surface before placing the ring in a pocket and returning her attention to the letter.

_Jaina,_

_We make now for Fairbreeze. It will be our last stand against him. I’m sending this ring to you now, like a promise. I will be back for you. We will have years together under whichever sun you choose as I never wish to part from you again. When I return,  I would ask you to marry me. But I can't bring myself to hold onto the words a moment longer so I must write them down._

_Jaina Proudmoore, mage of the Kirin Tor, Daughter of the Kul Tiras Admiralty and light of my life, will you marry me?_

_Wait for me, Jaina. I love you, Sylvanas._

The next letter, Jaina had long since memorized. She had read it over and over, hoping that the words would change. That the terrible news they held would prove untrue. But they never did.

_Dear Lady Proudmoore,_

_It is with the deepest regret that I send this letter, and wish that I was able to deliver this news to you in person. I’m sure you are now aware, Silvermoon has fallen, and with it, the remaining of our Rangers. Including the life of our esteemed General, Sylvanas Windrunner._

_I know how close the two of you were, and it is for that reason that I am going against the wishes of the Prince to send you this letter. You deserve to know that she died saving as many lives as she could._

_I am sincerely sorry for your loss._

_Captain Lor’themar Theron._

Setting the letter of condolence aside, Jaina picked out a small scrap of parchment. It was filthy, stained with Tides knew what. It had been delivered to her after she had established Theramore, tied to the leg of a gangly raven wig milky eyes. On it was written but a single word, in the childish scrawl of someone struggling to remember how to write ‘ALIVE’. Jaina had known immediately what it had meant. Who it had been sent by, but had no way to respond.

Until the next letter had arrived.

_Jaina,_

_I need you to know, that I am still here. That I am alive, in a form. But I have changed. I can feel it deep in the very core of my being. I am not who I once was. Perhaps I have changed for the worst, but I would see you again if you would allow._

_The Dark Lady._

A desperate plea for help, that Jaina had been unable to ignore.

_Jaina,_

_I write to you now in my time of need. I have been wrongfully framed for the crimes of those who would claim to follow my orders. I swear to you on all that I am, I did not order the attack on Wrathgate. I beg for your aid, help me reclaim The Undercity, and I will forever be in your debt._

_The Dark Lady._

Jaina crumpled the last letter as she reread it.

_My Jaina,_

_I know you may find this hard to believe, after all, I have done, but I write the truth here and now. Of all the things that have been lost to me, the only thing that I have not and will not lose is my love for you._

_Sylvanas Windrunner._

Jaina rubbed at her eyes harshly. She wouldn’t cry. Couldn’t cry. Not for this. The woman she loved was gone. Dead. Had been for years. The creature that now parades around in her skin was not her Sylvanas. It was something warped and twisted. Malicious and cruel. Jaina had to except that now, after the deaths of so many innocent.

She put the letters back in the pouch, folding them each carefully. It was a strange act like she was tucking the rest of her love in with the letter. Jaina took a breath, feeling her magic pool in the palm of her hand until it sparked into a flame. “Goodbye,” she whispered as she brought the flame close to the pouch.

“Would you burn me along with your memories, I wonder?” A low echoing voice sounded close behind the mage, startling her into losing her focus. The flame stuttered out.

Jaina was on her feet in an instant. She grabbed her staff and spun around, her fury returning tenfold. “Sylvanas,” she spat the name out, “how dare you set foot here!”

Sylvanas stood impassively, her crimson gaze leveled on Jaina, hands clasped behind her back, “I have as much right to be here as you do, Jaina. Thanks to Garrosh, this is technically Horde land, now,” Sylvanas shrugged, the movement made awkward by her pauldrons, “I am now Warchief of the Horde. That makes this my land.”

Jaina closed the distance between them with a blink. She grabbed the front of Sylvanas’ armor harshly and leveled the tip of her staff beneath her chin. She pressed hard enough that, were the elf alive, she would be struggling to breathe. “I should kill you where you stand!” she snapped, eyes flashing.

The elf responded by tilting her head back, exposing her throat, “then do so. You are the only person I would even think of allowing to kill me.”

She almost did just that. Jaina pressed her staff against her hard enough to piece Sylvanas’ slightly, ichor beading up from the wound. But she couldn't do it. With a snarl, Jaina shoved her back, “why are you here?”

“I often come here,” Sylvanas replied simply, “it is peaceful, and no one else dares to set foot here.”

Looking the Warchief over, Jaina asked, “where is your bow?”

“I cannot be armed her. No one can,” Sylvanas spread her hands and turned to show that she was truly without weapons, “an enchantment has been placed baring weapons. Except yours.” She watched as Jaina paced out her frustration before reaching into a pouch at the small of her back, pulling out a small stack of letters, and folding them out to Jaina.

Jaina eyed them skeptically, “what are these?”

“The letters that never came,” Sylvanas waved the letters.

“You stopped writing,” Jaina stated, angry at the hurt that crept into her voice.

Sylvanas shook her head, “No, you stopped replying so I stopped sending but I never stopped writing.” She waved them again, “I’m sending them now. These are yours.”

Jaina took the letters and briefly considered turning them to ash, but thought against it. She ran her thumb over the crossed arrow seal that had been stamped I tot he wax of the first letter before snapping it and reading. All of the letters are much the same. The rambling thoughts of the Banshee Queen. How her day was, little bits of meaningless gossip. The random writings that showed a side of the Warchief that was laid bare for Jaina alone. A mere glimmer of the woman that she had been in life.

“Why?” It was all Jaina could think to say as she held the letters tight enough that the clawed tips of her gauntlet cut into the parchment.

Sylvanas’ face was an impassive mask, “because I meant what I said,” she kept her voice cool, “I still love you. It is the only good thing I can still feel. Burn them if you must,” she flicked her hand dismissively, “I’ll understand. I have done such monstrous things.”

Jaina’s head snapped up at that, “you attacked the Night Elves unprovoked! You burned innocents alive!”

That seemed to have an effect on the risen elf. Sylvanas tore her crimson gaze from Jaina and clutched at her chest, “ I did not want to burn the tree. But I can see the way the winds blow. Your alliance will not rest until I am dead. So I defend myself and my people. As I always have.” She tried and failed to keep the fear from her voice.

At her words, Jaina’s glare softened, “you’re afraid of dying.”

“Of course I am!” Sylvanas’ eyes flared brightly, closing the small distance between them, “I have seen what awaits me and my forsaken! I will do anything to spare us that fate!”

“And what if the only way to do that, was to kill me?” Jaina jutted her chin out. Like the question was a challenge.

The Banshee’s anger sputtered out as quickly as it had arisen, “That is the one thing I cannot do. You make me weak,” she reached a hand up to caress Jaina’s cheek, “but I could never give you up.”

Jaina grabbed her wrist harshly to stop her. She glared at Sylvanas, her eyes as hard as chipped ice. But just like ice, her expression slowly melted and softened, “I can try to save you from the wrath of the Alliance.” Jaina leaned the cheek into Sylvanas’ palm, “You will be punished for your crimes, but I will not allow them to kill you.”

Sylvanas blinked in confusion, absently rubbing her thumb along Jainas cheekbone, “Why?” she asked quietly, “why would you save me?”

“Because,” Jaina allowed herself to smile, “I found the sign I was looking for, and as much as I hate to admit it, I never stopped loving you either.”

Jaina used her grip on Sylvanas’ wrist to pull her into a chaste kiss, wrapping her arms snuggly around her waist. No more words were needed. With that one action, Jaina sealed her unspoken vow.

She would not allow Sylvanas to burn. Memory or otherwise.

 


End file.
